


If I Leave You a Note

by lil_bonsai



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, light-hearted but kinda angsty, russia just wants friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25976866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_bonsai/pseuds/lil_bonsai
Summary: Russia wakes up, but in strange circumstances: He is inhabiting Spain’s body, but unlike most, he isn’t scared. On the contrary, isn’t this where he has always longed to be? In a country where it is warm and sunny, with friends that genuinely love him, whom he can love back?
Comments: 9
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Very rarely, if ever at all, Russia woke up in a place he didn’t recognize. Perhaps it was the lack of friends to ask him out places, the fact that his existing acquaintances were too afraid to approach him, or both. At the very least, Russia always recognized his surroundings, but upon opening his eyes this time, Russia saw a bright sun shine through the white, thin curtains of an open window, welcoming a foreign air into the foreign room. 

How strange, he thought, to be warm when I wake up.

Even more bizarre was the fact that his reflection in the mirror had a sun-kissed complexion, and eyes greener,  _ brighter _ , than the first strands of grass showing up after a long winter. As if someone had switched a button of sorts, his appearance had gone from winter mode to summer mode. It was an amicable sight. He opened his mouth and projected an " _ Aaaa _ ", and heard his usual soft and hollow voice now cultured and resonant. Also, the world looked funny from a perspective a few centimeters below what he was used to.

If Russia didn’t believe in soul traveling, he sure did now. How else would he explain that wherever he looked, whether upon his body or out the window, he was (in) Spain?

Most people in this situation, however often that happened, would perhaps find hints of what the agenda of the day looked like to make sure the life they had taken over would be interfered with as little as possible. But Russia had automatically started moving to the bathroom to change into clothes that fit the climate, and knew somehow that there was a huge dinner party at Italy’s house around six. He also knew that the tomatoes growing in his (Spain’s) garden were ripe and that he had intended to harvest them as soon as he woke up. Nobody had told him this information and neither had he accidentally eavesdropped during a Summit; He just knew what the plan for the day was. Not one to overthink things, even in a situation like this, Russia only smiled and did what came to mind.

Thus, Russia's day began.

A fiery, glossy tomato shone in the palm of Russia's unfamiliar tan hand. Like its respective owner, the tomato had bathed in the sun for a long time. He took the stem in his right hand and firmly gripped the tomato in his left, pulled the fruit from the plant by breaking the stalk. Although he had never done such a thing before, picking tomatoes felt as if he had been doing it for centuries. Surely it all lied in the muscle memory within the body he was inhabiting. Ever so diligently and caring with the harvest, Russia sensed a peace overcome him as the sun hit his usually cold body. Even if he had never been so warm before, he wasn't uncomfortable or dehydrated, and neither did the sunlight feel scalding on his skin. It was difficult to explain, but the warm, southern sun just felt so  _ good _ .

The sun had moved slightly across the sky when the harvest was over, and when Russia returned inside, he praised God that it was cold enough in his own country that he didn't have to sweat like this every day. About to relax on the couch was when the doorbell rang.

Russia wasn't nervous, but he did wonder if he'd be able to pull this off. After all, he wouldn't deliberately go out of his way to cause misery in someone else's life.

When he opened the door, he met a cheery Belgium and an every so impassive Netherlands.

Russia realized that speech and behavior was not included in the soul travel-package.

"You look like you've just worked out," Netherlands immediately pointed out.

" _ Goedemorgen, Spanje _ !" Belgium chirped and pivoted past Russia and into the house. "I realized yesterday that I don't have  _ any  _ appropriate attires for later, so therefo-"

"Therefore she'll be dragging us around town to shop for clothes and you cannot refuse the offer," Netherlands interrupted, thus concluding the explanation.

For a split second, Russia wondered how to respond to the situation. A; He could explain the strange phenomena that had occurred, B; he could pretend he was sick so nobody would meddle with him anymore for the rest of the day, C… Upon the thought of spending the day with friends, even if they weren't his own, Russia decided that it might not be so bad.

"Oh, sure!" Russia said and headed toward the bathroom for a second round of changing, "But it'd be better if I get to change first,  _ da? _ "

_ Oops. _

" _ Da _ ?" asked Belgium in a sing-song voice as she loitered around the house. She seemed a bit absentminded, so Russia left it be. Netherlands didn't seem to pay much attention either.

Back in the bedroom to find a change of clothes, Russia checked if he could find Spain’s phone as it could be a good indicator of what nicknames would be smart to use, as well as messages to tell him what was on the daily agenda, and secrets that nobody should know about. But what was the PIN code? Russia stuck the phone in his pocket and was positive he'd find the answer eventually.

The hard part now was to find clothes that wouldn’t look out of place. Russia had only seen Spain during Summits where he’d wear a uniform of sorts, and had never seen him during informal occasions as far as he could recall. Even during meetings Russia couldn’t remember observing him a lot, but knew that the impression of him sounded as such: Carefree, juvenile and kind of an airhead. Deciding on the conclusion that Spain didn’t care much what he wore as long as he looked decent and appropriate for the weather, Russia, although feeling a bit invasive, picked some clothes from the drawer and got changed.

Having his arms and legs exposed by wearing a t-shirt and shorts was an experience much stranger than Russia expected. The need for putting on a big coat and covering up his neck with a scarf, but not being able to because it was too warm, intrigued him. In fact, the extent of his intrigue was so great that Russia spent a minute swinging his arms around, captivated by how light he felt. There was no need for him to seek comfort in his heavy and suppressing clothes now that he could be so light and not worry about freezing. Oh, how he hoped that this wasn’t a dream.

Returning to his company, Russia found Belgium and Netherlands in the entrance not saying a word. Usually, such silence would immediately go from relaxed to tense when Russia arrived, but it stayed relaxed and comfortable.

“You sure took a long time up there, huh?” Belgium teased and nudged his arm. Russia grinned sheepishly. “I forgot the PIN on my phone,” he explained and took the phone out of his pocket. Netherlands left his cool leaning-on-the-doorframe pose by uncrossing his arms and taking the phone into his hands, spending a little less than 30 seconds drawing different patterns, until he handled it back.

“Why don’t you just write it down somewhere already,” he asked matter-of-factly as he pulled down the door handle. “I keep forgetting where I put the note,” Russia replied breezily, exiting the house after Belgium, followed by Netherlands being the last one out.

“What was the code, though?” asked Belgium.

“Just an ‘S’,” replied Netherlands.

“You’re not very bright, are you,  _ Spanja _ ,” Belgium laughed.

Nobody replied.

Russia took a quick glance at the notifications and saw that he had gotten two messages that said “Bel and I are coming to your house” and “she wants clothes she says.” The messages were from a contact named ‘Holanda’. There was also an earlier message from ‘Bel’ saying “u wanna come along and buy clothes with me and broer?”.

_ Holanda  _ and  _ Bel _ . Definitely Netherlands and Belgium. He jotted it down in the back of his mind.

As the trio made their way through the streets, the noon sun kept shining brighter and warmer, but for some reason Russia felt fine. Usually he’d have to cover himself from top to toe with sunscreen in weather like this, but didn’t feel the need to do so today. His companions, on the other hand; Upon witnessing the way their breathing was slightly heavier and how Belgium opened a cute umbrella with Netherlands neglecting the longing for what she had, Russia chuckled heartily as he for the first time felt superior in the sun.

“That’s a cute umbrella,” he couldn’t help but point out as he found delight in how its pastel green complimented Belgium’s parmesan-yellow sundress. How Russia knew this shade of yellow was called parmesan, he assumed it lied within the memory bank of his body’s owner.

“How many times are you going to say that?” Belgium laughed. Russia was about to explain to her something along the lines of ‘I’m impulsive; I’ll say whatever is on my mind!” when Belgium stopped in her tracks and pointed to a store with vintage clothes on display. She turned to Netherlands.

“C-can we-”

“Sure.”

With a jubilant exclamation, Belgium skipped her way toward the store, Russia and Netherlands complying her wish.

Now this was something Russia was familiar with: Being dragged around by girls who had forced him to come shopping for clothes with them. It was a regular occurence with Belarus and Ukraine, and it could last for two hours up to seven, so while Netherlands sat down in the closest chair he could find and told Belgium to take all the time she needed, Russia decided to accompany Belgium around the store. Firstly, he felt fuzzy inside talking so cheerfully with another cheerful person, and secondly, he assumed this was the in-character thing to do.

“Ok, listen,” Belgium started as she walked past the aisles, briefly touching a few pieces of clothing, “I’m thinking a sweet playsuit - I don’t know what color - to go along with that white belt I have.”

“Right, anything else?”

“If you find a hairband to fit the clothes, I’d look  _ gorgeous _ .”

Immediately, Russia pulled up two pieces of clothing from the clothing rack next to him that suited her wishes, and showed them to her. Belgium’s eyes widened as she took them. “How did you-”

Russia quickly got another one that she gladly accepted. She looked so delighted in fact that Russia wondered if he had done anything wrong.

“Since when did you get so good at finding clothes-?” Belgium gasped as she longingly looked at the pieces of clothing in her hands, before looking at him. Russia chortled knowing that this had to mean Spain usually sucked at picking clothes.

“I’ve always been this good!” he winked cheekily, to which Belgium shook her head and chuckled. She adjusted the clothes on her arm so they wouldn’t fall off, before she started walking toward where Netherlands sat.

“I’ll try these on, and you  _ have  _ to tell me what you think!” Belgium commanded as they returned to Netherlands, touching his shoulder to signalize that her presence was back with him. Netherlands urged her to go on, and Russia stood next to him, hands in his pockets.

“That was fast,” Netherlands said, indicating that picking clothes for Belgium generally was a time consuming task. “I just happened to be lucky with the picks,” Russia replied before the conversation came to a close. A discomfort suddenly welled up inside of him as he couldn’t think of things to say, and he expected some kind of tension to rise between them. At home, Russia was for the most part followed by the Baltics, who froze up whenever a conversation came to a close and when a silence was broken by conversation. No matter what state the sound-level between them was, it would be followed up by a trembling question of whether there was a way to satisfy Russia’s needs, of which Russia of course took advantage for his own benefit. What was wrong with that? If fear could be used as a medium of compliance, then Russia would absolutely utilize it. However, Russia sensed no fear nor agitation coming from Netherlands, and it introduced a type of silence that Russia had always wanted to experience.

“Is something wrong?” Netherlands asked and glanced up.

_ “Is something wrong?” _ . Where was the nervousness that usually lied in that question that implied a fear of not being adequate? Was he asking Russia if anything bothered him because he would fix it?

“I’m good, why?” Russia asked back, adjusting his pose in hopes that he’d erase all external information that hinted at this metaphysical occurrence. Netherlands sat back comfortably in his chair again. “I thought you seemed a bit stiff, but maybe it’s just my mind,” he sighed and looked toward the changing room curtain. He made a sluggish tract with his hands pointing toward it. “You soon finished?” he asked, projecting his voice into the air, his voice slightly rougher now that it was raised. The curtains fluttered whenever things bumped into it, and soon it was drawn aside to reveal Belgium in a pastel green playsuit that sat comfortably on top of her hips.

“What do you think?” she said excitedly and turned around a few times.

  
Russia felt his heart warm up as the scenery reminded him of fonder times with his sisters. “You look nice, but if you’re going to wear a white belt with it you could maybe wear something darker?” he suggested gleefully, feeling almost excessively happy with this interaction.

“I disagree,” Netherlands added, “I think light colors suit you, but only when you dress up.”

Belgium pouted for a second, before flicking her hair with her hand and complying with their remarks.

Despite the first success of finding clothes quickly, the trio spent a good hour in the small vintage store as Russia and Netherlands never came to agreement over what Belgium looked good in. They went multiple rounds to find clothes since Belgium finished batch after batch with no luck. It wasn’t that she didn’t look good, but there was always the possibility of looking better. Also, there was the childish competitiveness between men.

When said hour had nearly come to an end, a shop assistant offered her help to which the whole group agreed with twinkling eyes. She picked three pieces of clothing for Belgium to try on, and when she finally drew the curtain aside…

“You’re not going to show us?” Russia asked with a clear disappointment in his voice. Belgium, not having changed out of her sundress, clutched the clothing to her chest and grinned widely. “It looked so good on me that I’d rather have a grand entrance at the party,” she laughed as she walked toward the checkout.

With a headpiece to go with her new clothes carefully stuffed into a polka-dotted paper bag, Belgium ushered her companions out of the store, and they proceeded to continue down the street.

“ _ Spanja _ , you were  _ fierce  _ today!” Belgium said and spun on her heels, walking backwards so she could look at the ones she was talking to.

“Is that unusual?” Russia asked, lightly scratching the back of his head. Now was the time to ask questions that would aid him in his little adventure as another person.

“I mean, I’ve tried telling you before that I hate how you never have any criticism to come with,” Belgium said, a slight frown making it across her face, “But today wasn’t like that.”

A breach occurred in Russia’s mind, like a glitch. The majority of him had the urge to look her deep in the eyes and ask if she had any qualms about him, so she would decline to imply that Russia was perfect just the way he was. Threats like these always worked at home and it pleased him greatly to know that he had everyone under his mastery. However, even if Belgium was right in front of him and ever so straightforwardly pointing out his flaw - although not  _ Russia’s  _ flaw - Russia couldn’t help but conceal the urge to feel superior. Instead, he laughed it off as if it was a joke and apologized.

“He’ll forget it tomorrow, though,” Netherlands bluntly remarked, to which Russia could do nothing but show his compliance with a giggle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like referencing my other stories when writing, but of course that doesn’t make it necessary to read them before reading this XD But if you happen to have read the other Hetalia fics I’ve posted, you may recognize them!

The second time Russia woke up that day he was on the couch, draped in sunlight. Recalling the precursor to this nap, which was parting with Netherlands and Belgium after a delightful lunch, he stretched his limbs till he could grab the armrest with his hands, arched his back, and released the tension in a loud sigh. Russia wasn’t one to take naps, but it seemed like this body was. Perhaps it was the so-called  _ siesta _ . Judging from the position of the sun, which was shining through a window pointing eastward, it was soon time to leave. After having calculated that out of the two hours until the party, he’d spend one and a half to get changed and walk to Italy’s house, Russia got up and headed toward the bedroom.

Again, it was a case of looking through drawers and shelves without being intrusive, but at some point he found a diary-looking thing underneath all the socks. As a matter of course Russia picked it up and flipped through the pages. Judging from how many blank pages there were it must have been bought and forgotten. It was an intriguing first five pages, though, dated three months ago. There was a whole week logged down, containing a lot of despair and misery, and the last page said, in a harsh but round handwriting;  _ “Hoy lloré por primera vez en 400 años.” _ and a smiley-face. Not having obtained the language skills, Russia turned to a translating app on the phone.

_ “Today I cried for the first time in 400 years.” _

Immediately Russia understood what this meant and smiled tenderly at the sentence. To many that would have been something to pity, but Russia sensed the gratefulness that laid behind hundreds of years without feeling anything, and finally being able to cry. He could himself remember how it felt to write with a shaky hand and a tearstained, heartfelt smile, “I felt something today”, and he couldn’t help but be surprised at the information in his hands. Were there others who knew about this, or was Spain perhaps also the type to keep such woes to himself?

Skimming through the rest of the book, Russia found no other point of interest and put the book back where he found it. Although he hadn’t spent more than five minutes on that log, he was highly unsure of what clothes to wear and didn’t want to be late for the party.

After thirty minutes of trial and error, looking through pictures on the phone to create a template of sorts, he settled for a ashen grey button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark blue jeans that hugged his legs tightly. To Russia this was like moving around while being duct taped, but at least it looked true to the pictures. Spain seemed to be the type to take a lot of photos of nearly everything, and from the pictures Russia had found from social gatherings with an atmosphere that required a slight sophistication regarding dress code, this was what resembled them the most. Again, Russia wasn’t particularly worried about what others thought; He just wanted to stay true to character and not cause unnecessary mishaps.

…

The afternoon sun shone in all its glory, tinting the streets golden. Russia made out the building in which the Italian brothers lived. Tiny butterflies swirled around in his belly as he thought about the fact that he’d be spending an evening with someone whom he had tried, and naturally failed, to befriend before. One could see a hundred miles away how their legs trembled in their pants when Russia attempted to be amicable, which was why he had never gotten past the point of saying “Ciao” and putting a hand on their shoulder. Although not pleased that he had to do a whole body-swap in order to be friends with them, he was impatient about entering the building.

6:00 PM. Just on time.

When Russia’s hand approached the door handle was when he heard a gasp a few meters behind him.

“ _ Mein Gott _ , is that you, Spain?”

Russia turned around and met a pair of excessively expanded violet eyes.

“It  _ is  _ you!” Prussia heaved, observed him for a brief moment, before bursting into a heartfelt guffaw. As his arm casually wrapped around his shoulder, Russia had a brief, internal cognitive dissonance seeing Prussia in such a state of amusement. It was no secret that Russia was one of the primary causes for his various nightmares, and being treated so friendly by someone who hated him so much had Russia at a loss of words.

“Why are you so early, man?” Prussia snickered, uttering a few more snorts in between the words.

For the first time that day, Russia became alarmed. He had definitely done something wrong, but did not know what.

“It starts at six, doesn’t it?” Russia asked, with that jubilant, confident grin plastered onto his face, hiding the tiny speck of insecurity.

Prussia stopped laughing and stared verbosely at him with curious, somewhat suspicious, eyes, before snorting and withdrawing his arm.

“I see how it is,” Prussia said in a low tone, stroking the non-existent stubble on his chin, “You’re competing with the awesome Me to be first, aren’t y-”

In an instant, Russia understood where the game was heading and was off to a head start, stumbling into the building's doorway and taking three steps at a time in the staircase.

“YOU COME BACK HERE, YOU-”

Prussia was right on his heels, and Russia had some strong flashbacks to the times when they had fought. Even to this day, Prussia’s movements remained the same.

The duo pushed and tackled in order to make it first up the stairs, and after the first flight, Russia was in the lead. 

“ _Oh,_ _Geh zum Teufel_ ,” Prussia smirked as he set foot on the second flight of stairs. Effectively he grabbed the back of Russia’s shirt and ducked under the arm that held onto the handrail, skipped five steps and ultimately came out the rightful victor.

“ _ I won and you didn’t _ !” Prussia cheered, his accent thickening as his enthusiasm grew. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have time to look down on Russia as he was only a step behind, now catching his breath.

“ _ Piz-dets _ , I lost,” Russia chuckled before taking a few slow and steady in- and exhales. He minded his own business until he caught Prussia looking at him with a rare, contemplating expression, then looking away.

“You learnin’ Russian?” Prussia asked and slapped Russia on the back, gesturing them both to walk down the hallway.

_ Oops,  _ again _. _

“No, I’m not,” Russia replied, pretending that Prussia had heard the wrong thing. He decided that should Prussia ask what he said, he’d reply with ‘shithead’. The question never came, though.

“Okay, then…” Prussia mumbled, “Have you been  _ training  _ with Russia?”

“No, how come?”

“You kinda moved like him, that’s all.”

Leaving the conversation hanging, Prussia knocked on the door belonging to the Italians’ apartment, but didn’t wait for anyone to open up before barging inside.

“YOU GUYS!” he bellowed and yet again wrapped his arm around Russia’s shoulder, dragging him inside (after removing their shoes, of course), “LOOK WHO I FOUND ON THE WAY!”   
  


The ones present in the living room, of whom were Italy Veneziano, Romano, Germany, whom Russia guessed sort of lived there already, Austria, Hungary and Japan, immediately turned their heads.

“Big brother Spain and Prussia!” Veneziano exclaimed happily and got up from the couch. He headed over to the two. Luckily for Russia, Prussia was standing a few centimeters in front of him which was a great way to buy some time to observe the ways of greeting; Veneziano and Prussia both exchanged kisses on the cheek, which Russia knew was a common custom in the southern region of Europe. The cheery Italian proceeded to approach Russia similarly. “How come you’re so early?” he asked, his voice sounding like it was on its tippy-toes as well, “You’re always the last one to arrive!”

Suddenly Russia understood the whole deal with him, as in  _ Spain _ , being so early; He had heard that in this region, it was common for people to arrive one or two hours late to visits and parties.

Now for a way to play along with this newly obtained information.

“I may have gotten the time a little messed up,” Russia replied sheepishly as Veneziano took his arm to lead him inside.

He beamed up at him.

“That’s just like you!”

The next hours ticked by in a blur; Around thirty minutes later, Netherlands and Belgium arrived, Belgium proudly showing off her mint green, white-dotted halter dress, which Hungary and Veneziano were highly ecstatic over. Thirty minutes or more after their arrival, France arrived with an exquisite wine, pouting over how he was last to the party. Dinnertime followed shortly and Russia had never in his life eaten such an amount of pasta, in addition to all the other delicious dishes. It was during these moments of cheerful talking across the table and praising the Italians for the food, that Russia grew an urge to learn about Italian cuisine.

After dinner and dessert and the table was cleared, people were free to do as they wished. Prussia lived it up in the living room, borrowing an old guitar that the Italian brothers had lying around somewhere, screaming patriotic songs from the top of his lungs with Germany and Austria as his relatively reliable background singers. Hungary and Veneziano clapped along and joined whenever they heard a familiar word. France, Netherlands and Belgium were talking to an excessively boozed up Romano about something Russia couldn’t understand due to the alcohol fogging up their languages. Russia, being the more introverted type, had tried his hardest during this party to be the most attention-seeking version of Spain he could muster, which had succeeded at first, but now he couldn’t resist the urge to take a breather on the veranda.

After excusing himself, which stirred up a few surprised grimaces, Russia opened the glass door a little wider than it already was, and did not expect to encounter another presence.

“Mr. Spain?” Japan softly said and turned around, his eyes leaving the view of the city to meet Russia’s, “Of all people, I didn’t expect you to come out here.” Japan’s calm and composed voice served as a breath of fresh air from the loud and festive atmosphere inside. Russia popped a grin before leaving a little gap in the door, leaning onto the banister with a glass of dry wine in his hand.

“I like to party, but stillness can be good too,” Russia said and looked to the horizon. Given the late hours, there wasn’t much light in the city except for lamp posts and some bigger facilities, but it was enough to create a golden cob-web beneath him.

“You’ve had quite the modest tendencies today, Mr. Spain,” Japan sighed and looked out again.

“Maybe?”

“Are you not feeling well?”

Russia snickered as best as he could.

“I am always feeling well!”

Japan nodded slightly before the conversation came to a still. Even if the noises indoors could be heard from kilometers away, the half-closed veranda door muffled it slightly and served as a thin, imaginary wall to create a little bubble where silence reigned. It was rather peaceful.

Even if Russia had barely said anything to Japan this evening, the way they stood and looked over the city in silence, he felt incredibly close to him. He felt as if there was a common ground between them, bonding over the fact that they were introverted people who sometimes felt like kicking back from the hoopla. Russia glanced at Japan and noticed that his hand was trembling slightly. Apparently that was normal for him, so Russia didn’t ask about it. Instead, he let the view soak up in his mind, enjoying every single drop of it.

“If you changed bodies with someone, what would you do?” Japan suddenly asked, breaking the intimate and solemn atmosphere they had created. With his heart speeding up slightly from the strange coincidence, Russia considered asking Japan if he had soul-traveled too, but Japan cut him off before he could mention it.

“I know that if I woke up in someone else’s body, I would leave them a note,” the smaller of the two said and took a sip of the red wine he held in his hand, “Because I’m sure that I’d get a hold of secrets and problems they wouldn’t want anyone to know. So I’d leave them a vague note of encouragement.”

Russia nodded.

“That’s a nice thing to do.”

There sure wasn’t much change to Japan when affected by alcohol, but if he were the kind of person to think deeply about things to himself, the alcohol was what transfered those thoughts to reality. Russia himself tried abstaining from drinking too much tonight since he needed to control his behavior in this body. Neither did he know whether Spain was a lightweight, and had therefore only consumed small amounts. Besides, if people were to understand the situation for some reason or another, all the love these people had shown him today would turn into fear and despise.

“If I woke up in someone else’s body, I’d want to learn more about other people so I could make friends with them afterward!” Russia eventually said, relieved that his response was the first thing he did that day that wasn’t faked. A faint smile appeared on Japan’s face as he snorted.

“How very like you, Mr. Spain.”

  
  


…

At 3:30 AM Russia’s head was pounding when he sat down on the bedside, the hollering and laughing still remaining in this quiet house. As his mind circulated through the never-leaving guitar strings, he thought of the day that lied ahead of him. When he awoke today morning, the agenda for the day was so clear in his mind that he wondered if he had written it himself without knowing. He knew everything that Spain had planned to do as if it were himself, and so Russia followed that agenda accordingly. However, nowhere in his mind could he find tomorrow’s program. Even if it was technically ‘tomorrow’ right this moment, he could stay up all night and still not know what would happen. Or, rather than not knowing what lied ahead, there was nothing.  _ Nothing  _ would happen tomorrow, which Russia theorized could mean that…

He felt an ever so tiny knot in his stomach when he realized how much he had enjoyed himself today. Surely he had friends back home as well, but the friendship he had with them didn’t feel nearly as rewarding. All this time he had spent time with the Baltics and enjoyed their company, unknowing of the type of friendship he had experienced today; Friendships that were nurturing, supportive, relaxed and honest. Even if Russia had felt somewhat repulsed the first times someone complained about him, for example when Belgium had pointed out that he wasn’t very bright or that he was bad at taking criticism, he learned how to tolerate it and it resulted in way more laughter and joking than it did at home.

This was such a sunny and warm place.

He got up from the bed and headed down to the study, finding a piece of paper and a pen.

  
  


_ You have so many good friends. You need to let them support you, or else you’re going to wait another 400 years. _

  
  


A vague note of encouragement. As long as it made sense to Spain, that was all that mattered.

  
  


…

When his eyes opened, Russia immediately recognized where he was; He had returned to his own body, and it was morning. Wide awake, he looked to his bedside and saw the usual three shivering at the acknowledgement.

“G-good morning, Mr. Russia,” Lithuania forced. Russia looked at their faces and rolled over to the other side, facing away from them.

“I had a strange dream,” he sighed as he looked out the window. As real as his dream had felt, there was no way soul-travel or body-swapping was possible. Perhaps his neglected loneliness had been untended to for too long and finally manifested in a dream that contained all of Russia’s biggest dreams: To go to a warm place with sunny skies, and have lots of friends.

“Mr. Russia,” Estonia whispered, the tremble in his voice clearer than the seemingly newly-washed windows, “H-how is your back?”

Russia turned around again and looked at the one who was speaking.

“My back?”

“You said your back hurt when you cleaned the window yesterday…?”

“I didn’t clean-”

Now that Estonia had mentioned it, Russia’s back surely did ache. Before he could ask further about it, he got out of bed as something clicked in his mind. The remaining trio looked at each other, shrugged, before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

With his heart pulsing through his feet, Russia made his way to his study where he, surprised yet expectedly, found a piece of paper with a handwriting that had never been in his house before. He sat down on his chair and read the sentence once, then twice, while an unfamiliar feeling took root in his chest.

“Mr. Russia, we’re making  _ syrniki _ , is that alr-”

Latvia swallowed his words back in when he laid his eyes on Russia, who was crying silently in his chair. Lithuania and Estonia joined the onlooking when Latvia had taken longer than necessary to ask such a simple question.

“Should we approach him?” Latvia inquired quietly.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Estonia replied.

Lithuania eventually took them by the back of their collars, gently pulling them back into the kitchen to indicate that they leave their boss be.

Russia wasn’t entirely sure what he felt, but it was intense. Had he just known about this message before, it would have spared him centuries of loneliness. As he read through the sentence again and again, he kept asking himself how he had never realized it sooner;

  
  


_ Advice for keeping good friends: If you expect people to treat you a certain way, people will expect you to treat them a certain way too! x _


End file.
